


Couslands Never Give Up

by blankvellum



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Family Death, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blankvellum/pseuds/blankvellum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The immediate aftermath of Vsleria Cousland having finally gotten revenge on Arl Howe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couslands Never Give Up

A/N - Hey! This is my first fic for dragon age and on ao3 in general, just a little one-shot. Also 'Vsleria' is not a typo in the story, though it was a typo that I only realized after I had entered her name. So for authenticity sake it remains the same.

“Maker spit on you. I... deserved... more.” Arl Rendon Howe rasped out his last words before his head fell back, letting out a raspy groan. Vsleria Cousland was still seething, crying out she lifted up her great sword to stab him repeatedly, it wasn’t having the desired effect since it took far too much of her strength. Instead she pulled out a dagger and started stabbing him frantically, her anger evaporating into tears as Arl Howe’s words echoed through her mind. She had to believe Fergus was still alive somewhere, she couldn’t be the only one left. 

At this moment Vsleria felt herself being lifted by two pairs of arms,likely Alistair and Zevran. If they were saying anything she certainly didn’t hear it, she felt like she was in a vacuum, an orb surrounding her, everything else was moving except her. It felt surreal, similar to after her joining, minus the passing out and the pain. To think she had spent more than half of her life praying to the Maker to take her out of Highever, so that she could do something meaningful, only to mourn the loss of that very place and her parents. The Maker had a sick sense of humor which is why she took great pride in defiling Andraste’s ashes, the Maker clear didn’t give a shit about her so what was the point? Vsleria definitely took her life for granted, her parents for granted most of all. Her mother, Eleanor, only wanted what was best for her which in her view was to get married off to a nobleman. She would have rather suffocated than ended up trapped in a marriage of convenience. 

Her father somewhat accepted her endeavors, he tried to teach her to wield a sword and shield like her brother, Fergus, but she had no interest in that. No, instead she wanted to practice with a great sword, eventually Bryce had to relent and let her have her way. It didn’t come naturally to her, she fell over more times than she would care to admit, her swings were stronger than her balance. Vsleria quit over a dozen times, but it was her father who would encourage her to keep training. “A Cousland never gives up!” he would say. Fergus had to be alive, though perhaps it would be kinder if he wasn’t, having lost his wife and son. He’d carry on though, he had a sense of duty as the new Patriarch of House Cousland. She certainly did not want to be the sole survivor of her family, she hardly needed the extra responsibility as selfish as that sounds.

She was then more conscious of her surroundings, her face buried in Zevran’s leather armor, his hand running through her hair soothingly. Her face must be ridiculously red, how embarrassing, she didn’t have time to cry before after her parents died, she was making up for it now. Vsleria lifted up her head, standing up straight, as nice as it was to be in Zevran’s arms, she couldn’t forever. She tried to wipe away her tears, “I thought... it would feel differently. That I would feel better after getting my revenge, but....” Tears welled up again in her eyes, threatening to pour out. 

“Sometimes more violence is not the answer.” Zevran responded. 

“That’s strange coming from an assassin.” Alistair remarked. 

“The best assassins only use violence when necessary.” Zevran said wistfully. 

“Where’s Morrigan?” Vsleria asked, looking briefly around the room, couldn’t really blame her for not being here, she knew she wasn’t good with emotions. 

“She’s right outside just keeping watch. Are you ready to get moving?” Alistair asked. Vsleria had temporarily forgotten why they were here in the first place, rescusing Anora. Right.

“Yes, but I don’t feel like fighting.” 

Alistair gasps exaggeratedly, “What? But you always want to fight something. You’re always saying ‘Alistair, let’s go kill something today’” 

Vsleria rolled her eyes, but laughed despite herself. Alistair could always make her laugh even when she didn’t feel like it. “I do not say that!” 

“Ok, well, it may be a paraphrase or implied subtext, but either way, I am shocked.” 

“Paraphrased, subtext. My, my, but those are big words Alistair.” Morrigan’s appearance in the room was suddenly made known. 

“Please, don’t start right now.” Vsleria begged then picked up her great sword, though they persisted anyway, per usual. 

“Ready, mi amor?” Zevran asked, she would never admit how much her heart fluttered whenever her called her that. 

“Whatever will get those two to stop bickering like children.” She muttered. “Come on children, let’s go!” With her leading they then headed out of the room to face the rest of the guards. Fighting was really last thing she wanted to do right now, but she had muster every inch of energy and motivation in her all because she can’t half-ass wielding a great sword. 


End file.
